


A Little Risk

by CuteCat213



Series: Sea Glass [2]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Ambiguous Crona Gender, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuteCat213/pseuds/CuteCat213
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's life without a little risk?" That's what she said when he asked her to go with him. Over and over again, the phrase seems to perfectly describe their lives. But big or little, Soul and Maka will face any risk, and they'll face it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So... I intended this to be a little sequel to Lonely Eyes. You know, a short after-fic or extended epilogue... And it somehow evolved into this monster. Don't ask me how, I have no clue. I SWEAR it didn't seem so long when I was writing it...
> 
> So, to those still waiting on my serials and wondering where the writing's gone... Lonely Eyes and this together push my writing tally for the week to over eighteen-thousand words, which is... pretty much every chapter I've missed since coming back from my haitus.
> 
> But I have some fantastic news, too: My Beta finally got some free time and helped with that major block I had. I now know exactly where DeathStar and Silver are going and those will be back on next week.

"Soul, have you seen Blair?"

Grinning to himself, Soul raised his voice, "Sorry, Maka, I haven't seen your p _–_ "

"Don't even. I will Maka-Chop you."

He chuckled and put the box down on a stack of them. "Sorry. Can't blame a guy for trying, you left that door wide open. Just open the cupboard door. She comes running if there's even the slightest chance of tuna." A black blur ran by his feet and shot into the kitchen. "You see? All you have to do is say the  _word_  'tuna'. Want me to lock her in the bathroom so she doesn't get out?"

"No, I've got it." Maka brought in one of the empty boxes, put it on the floor, and ran her nail down the side of it. Her  _–their–_  cat shot by and  _dove_  into the box. Maka picked it up and put it on one of the recliners. "You see?" she asked back teasingly.

Soul walked over and peeked inside to see the black feline purring up at him. He closed the flaps again and looked at the blonde. "Nope, wrong box. I think we should send this one back."

There was a very indignant meow that echoed through the cardboard and Blair wiggled around until he let go so she could jump out. She gave him one of those looks only cats and women could master, then sauntered over to his bookshelf, making a daring leap that strained even the laws of Cat Physics, and looked down at him haughtily from the top where she started licking a paw to clean her face and ignore him like the measly human peon he was.

Soul rolled his eyes and followed Maka downstairs so she wouldn't try to lift a box that she knew was too heavy for her but was too stubborn to admit. Besides, he knew Blair's secret well, and he'd get her back later, making her abandon all dignity in her eternal hunt for the elusive red laser dot.

Predictably, his blonde tried to lift the very box he'd mentally tagged as the heaviest, determined to haul it up to the penthouse suite all on her own. Soul grabbed the other side and saw her give him one of those wary, predatory, female looks in warning. Fortunately, he knew the secrets to this one, too, and smiled disarmingly. "Chivalry is not dead. I'll go up backwards, you navigate." It was a measure of his devotion that those words had left his lips, because,  _damn_.

He and Maka fit together like matching puzzle pieces, like they were made for each other, even when they argued. But dear god, he didn't want to get lost with the woman. She ignored every mark on any given map, every direction on any piece of paper shown to her, and somehow  _still_  managed to get the exact result she wanted in the end _–_  with all those following after her staring in confusion and astonishment. She'd just wound up grinning victoriously and saying: "Never question a woman's sense of direction."

Somehow or other, they managed to get all the way up without tripping and falling to their mutual deaths, and Blair decided to deny their very existence by taking a nap atop her perch on high. Soul stuck his tongue out at her as he focused on not falling and getting crushed by the box and his girlfriend.

Then the phone rang and Soul suddenly found himself hefting the heavy box all on his own as Maka dashed for the landline. "I've got it!" And Soul knew she only volunteered in the hopes of catching another of Kid and BlackStar's infamous telephone arguments. Bonus points if they started snarking innuendos at each other because he'd found out Maka shipped that.  _Hard_. He wondered if she'd be far enough away to protect his hearing from her squees of glee...

Soul managed to set his burden on the nearby chest of draws before he could wind up dropping it on his foot. ...As he'd already done twice so far _–_  thankfully with lighter boxes. He perched his elbow on the box and plopped his chin on his fist as he watched Maka's sock-clad feet disappear into the kitchen, then looked about at all the tan cubes scattered around the suite like his clothes had once been before he'd met a certain ash-blonde.

Over two dozen boxes  _–_ and another six still left in the truck down below _–_  and he'd found a grand total of four that held actual belongings such as clothing _–_  and one of those had been the  _cat's_! The rest... Soul sighed, where the hell had all the books materialized from? Granted, Maka  _did_  work at a bookstore, but  _by the grace of Death_ , he could have sworn there hadn't been this many in her entire  _apartment_! They'd have to go shopping tomorrow just to buy enough shelves to  _hold_  all these things! ...And Soul was very much not looking forward to trying to put those together.

His fault, all of it, he supposed. Not that there was actually a 'fault' exactly, and he was more than willing to take responsibility. Maka had been sitting at his desk in the bed room, at his computer, with her cat perched on her head like a new-age hat, lit in the dark only by the glow of the screen, and fretting like hell over her end-of-term thesis on... uh, Soul had been too distracted by her doing it in only his shirt and a pair of bike shorts to really listen to all the complaints, and the words had left his lips before he'd had a chance to think about them: "Move in with me."

Maka's head had whipped around so fast the feline had nearly gone flying. "What?"

"Move. In. With. Me. I mean, I'm not against moving in with you, but my place is bigger and I've no idea how we'd fit a grand piano in your place. Mine's got better acoustics, anyway..."

And like when she'd trusted him the night they met, she didn't hesitate, didn't stop to think it through, she just smiled at him that way she had that made her eyes glow. "Sure. What's life without _–_ "

"A little risk." And what a little risk it was. It wasn't like they didn't already spend every moment they could together, wound up at each other's place each night, kept clothes at the other's apartment... Maka had redecorated his bathroom and he'd had more clothes in her dresser than she did. Others might have thought they were moving fast, but, hell, when you dealt with insanity on a daily basis and found a rock to which you could cling, four months was a lifetime. If ever there were a test of compatibility, it was standing one another's crazy friends.

That Maka could put up with BlackStar's ego and Kid's OCD  _–_ even letting him fix her ponytails _–_  was an amazing thing. Her tolerating Giriko that night in the bar had not, it turned out, been a fluke. Which was also good for Soul since it meant she could handle his own moods. And once he'd met  _her_  best friend, he'd discovered exactly where she'd learned all that patience. Being tackled to the ground and his face shoved in someone's cleavage would, one might think, tic off their girlfriend. But it turned out Maka used the same tone saying "Blair, get off the fridge." scolding the cat, as saying: "Blair, get off my boyfriend." to the purple-haired woman that had assaulted him. And there wasn't even a mystery as to why she'd named the cat after said best friend, because the feline's tendency to wait on the bathroom counter and  _stare_  at him when he got out of the shower was very much like the look the woman gave him when assessing if he was good enough for Maka.

Soul could give as good as he got, though, asking just how far her opinion counted given Maka's (in)famous date that had led to them meeting in the first place. Woman-Blair had backed off a bit after that.

Maka came back in with the handset and a contemplative look on her face, putting the phone down beside the box, which suitably distracted him from his thoughts. "Don't put that down there, you'll just lose it."

"I won't lose it."

"Right..." Just like she hadn't developed a goddamned  _talent_  for losing the television controller that had prompted Soul to stock up on an entire drawer full of universal remotes _–_  and the code for setting one of said remotes to his television was 4802 if anyone ever asked him about it. "You look frustrated, Star get on your nerves again?"

She shook her head. "...Did you know you have a concert this weekend?"

"Wait, what? I don't have anything like that."

"Apparently, according to the  _–_ very rude _–_  director of the Eight Lords auditorium, you're scheduled to play the day after tomorrow. I just checked the mail when they told me to: you've got tickets and everything."

"What the he _–_  wait, rude?" Soul massaged his forehead. "Was it a whiny voice, cut you off in the middle of your sentences, and called you a fool?"

"...Yes."

Soul snatched up the phone and speed-dialed, tapping his foot in aggravation until the idiot picked up. "YO!"

"...Would my manager kindly like to tell me why the fuck I'm scheduled for a gig at 8LA that should have been canceled months ago?"

"Uh... I forgot?"

"You 'forgot'? I told you I never again wanted to play on the same night, in the same  _city_  as my brother, and you just let a job with him in the  _same goddamn building_  slip your mind?! What the fuck!"

"How do you know he's playing?"

Soul let the silence sit long enough to become uncomfortable. "I may be the family outcast, but I still get the tour leaflets for my  _brother_ , which you should also know since  _they go through you first!_ So, please, do tell, how did this little tidbit just... fade from your memory?" Tsubaki, the group's pseudo-therapist, had advised him to avoid situations he knew would only put him in a bad place mentally and emotionally. Keeping Maka away from his asshole parents and perfect sibling had only been bonus points.

"I was busy."

"With  _what?!_  I'm the only idiot in the country who employs you!"

"Man, I'm sorry, okay, but shit happened!"

Fuck, and now Soul felt like a dick. How could he have forgotten BlackStar's own family issues? He winced, "Shit, sorry, Star. That was during the whole court mess, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"...How many years did he get again?"

"Four-hundred and sixty-eight years consecutively before he's eligible for parole."

BlackStar's old man had always been off his rocker  _–_ Soul actually thought it was a hereditary thing _–_  and they both thought it lucky Star had gone into the system to end up with his Guardian, Sid, and the psycho had finally been caught by the police a few months before, linked to something like four dozen murders. It was a good thing he'd had Kid there to support him.

He ran a hand over his face and let out a harsh breath. "Dammit. I can't back out of it this late. We've got freaking  _tickets_."

Maka's arms snuck around him from behind and she leaned against his arm. "You'll do fine. They can't hurt you anymore. I'll be right there with you."

Just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased and he could breathe easier without feeling like a panic attack was imminent. He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay." he turned his attention back to the on-going phone call. "So, hope you didn't have any plans for your weekend."

"Shiiiit."

"Yes, poor you."

"Dammit, Soul, you don't get it. Kid had this big...  _thing_ , planned this weekend. We were gonna fly out to see his dad." As one of the few of their dysfunctional group of friends that didn't have parental issues, that was an important thing. Or it would have been, if Soul didn't know what Kid's father was like.

"You have all my sympathy," he said sarcastically.

"Dude, you're being an asshole," BlackStar informed him.

"And you're being an idiot," he returned. "You really think  _Kid's dad_  is going to have a problem with coming to you guys instead of you going to him? You and Kid are staff, just invite him along as your Plus-One."

"That's... actually really smart."

Soul felt his eyebrow twitch. "I find your surprise insulting..."

"I think Maka's smarts are rubbing off on you."

"Now who's being the asshole, asshole?"

"You still suck."

"No, that's entirely your department, Gay Man."

"I WAS DRUNK!"

"So you blame your gold-fish memory on the alcohol?"

"..."

"Victory to Eater, I'm marking this on the board." Maka smiled and shook her head, stepping back as he moved to the dry-erase board he kept on the living room wall and added a line to his side. The current score was forty-two to thirty-seven in his favor. If others found it juvenile that Soul and BlackStar still kept track of who won their arguments like they had since high school, neither of them cared, and Maka found it hilarious.

"Dammit, Soul!"

"What's the matter, Star? Kid distracting you?"

"Nah, I'm here alone and bored out of my mind."

"Then what's the iss _–_  wait a minute."

"Fuck."

"You're there,  _home_?  _Alone?!_  What the hell happened to 'Kid has this thing and I have to be there to support him'?"

"I'm supporting! Just, you know... from a distance. Moral support."

"You bastard! You lied to get out of helping with the move!"

"I'd just end up dropping and breaking things anyway!"

" _BLACKSTAR!_ "

Maka held in her giggles and went downstairs for the next box.


	2. Chapter 2

Maka stretched and yawned, watching the white-haired man haloed by computer light. "Soul, come to bed already."

He grinned over his shoulder at her. "Hey, you had your turn freaking out at the computer. Turn about's fair play."

She shifted and got up, her shirt  _–_ okay, Soul's shirt that she had permanently borrowed _–_  slipping off one shoulder as she stood. She made her way over to him and leaned down to hug him from behind, perching her chin on his shoulder to read what he was working on, but she was distracted by what his mouse rested on. "Soul!"

He jerked and looked at her. "What?!"

"How could you?"

He followed her horrified look to _–_  oh. Yeah, he really should have seen that one coming. "Useful Applications for Your Highschool Diploma #1: Mousepad." She glared at him. "Come on, Maka, it's just a piece of paper. I have no need of it and it's not like it's a number three-and-counting Master's Degree to frame and put on a wall. Not all of us cherish our schooling and its accomplishments as high as certain people."

She sighed in disappointment, but knew that this was one of the areas that Soul wouldn't really budge on.

"Your schedule?"

"Just making sure I don't have any other concerts I don't remember okaying. Plus there's the having six extra tickets thing to deal with..."

"Why do you have to deal with them?"

"Well, I don't  _have_  to, I suppose. Normally it wouldn't even be a problem with Liz, Tsubaki, Patty, Kid, Blair, and you."

"So why is it a problem now?"

"Because now that Kid's taken over marketing, and you accounting, you're both staff, which leaves those tickets unnecessary, then Tsubaki and Liz and Patty all on vacation at the moment, and Blair at that... frilly- _thing_."

"It's a spa retreat."

"Frilly-thing. We've got a half-dozen tickets. Kid's just going to end up using his on his Dad, so..."

She leaned further forward on her tiptoes, putting her chest eye-level with Soul so she could pull up a set of contacts. "Open your eyes to the possibilities."

There was really only one response to that...

"Soul!"

"My eyes  _are_ open and the only things in right there in front of me are your _–_ "

"Soul Eater..."

Uh-oh. That was her warning tone of voice. "Okay, okay, Bright Eyes. Totally serious. What are you thinking?"

"If you could extend your attention just a little further than my nightclothes, you'd see."

"But it's such a lovely view..." There was a disturbance in the air and Soul felt his survival instincts blaring in warning. "Kidding, Maka." He actually looked at what she'd put on the screen and immediately wished he'd let that potential argument build. "Oh,  _hell no._ "

"What?"

"You're trying to play matchmaker, that's what. And there is  _no way_."

"Come on, sometimes people just need a push. Would we have spoken if Justin hadn't asked you to play the night we met?"

Soul wanted to argue  _yes_ , because of course he'd have had the guts to talk to her, because he  _would have_. Totally. He sighed. "Okay." Maka's smile was almost worth the trouble she was about to cause.  _Almost_. She handed him the landline and pulled her replaced cell phone from _–_  "Where exactly did you have that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I mean that shirt doesn't have pockets and you have no bra on. Where was your phone at?"

"It's a secret."

He was going to push it, really, but the warning look the blonde gave him told him he'd regret it if he asked again. Soul gave up and dialed Death Scythe. "Right: Secret..." The line connected. "Hey, Justin. It's Soul, could you put Giriko on?"

"How did you know he's here?"

" ...Because I know the bar like the back of my hand and Giriko _–_  will you please just put him on?"

"Okay, one moment."

He kept the other ear open to Maka's own conversation, interest peaked when Maka's voice went soft and quiet. "Hello, Crona... No, I'm perfectly alright. I was actually calling to check on you."

Soul's attention split when Giriko's own gruff voice came over the line, asking what he wanted with no fewer than three curse words and an insult. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, nothing much. I just have in front of me here the key to you finally getting Justin to go out with you." Soul pulled the phone away from his ear as the other sharp-toothed man went off on a long rant about not needing anyone.

"I've been on my own longer than you've _–_ "

"Uh-huh..."

He let his attention wander back to Maka. "I've got extra tickets and was wondering if you'd like to come to Soul's concert. You could even, say, invite someone else to go with you. Like a date." Maka smiled. "It's not that difficult, I promise. Just go up and ask."

Soul leaned back in his chair as Giriko finally seemed to run out of steam _–_  or at least breath. "Well if you're that determined to do it on your own, I guess I'll just figure out another way to get rid of these extra tickets. I mean, after all, it's not like Justin's absolutely insane over any kind of musical entertainment or anything..." there was a 'wait-wait-wait!' across the line that had him smirking. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Now are you going to nut up and ask him, or should I walk you through that, too?" He waited out the next stream of vitriol that ended in a predictable variant of 'fuck you'. Really, Giriko needed to expand his vocabulary. "Thought Justin was the one you were after? Look, you gonna stand there shouting at me or get your act together and ask him out?"

Damn, it was hard to keep his attention on two separate conversations at the same time. He glanced back at his girlfriend. "That's it, you can do it."

The next words on the other end of the line, however, caught all of his attention. "Wait, something's happening."

Soul ignored Maka's conversation for his own. "What do you mean?"

"That little pinkette that's always hiding in the corner is actually moving. And  _–_ holy fuck _–_  walking over to that scarred bastard on the other side of the bar."

 _No. Way._  Soul shot a sharp look Maka's way. There was just no chance that could possibly be _–_  Then he snorted and smirked. Of course it could be. Because Maka was just a lodestone for all sorts of miraculous things, from her sense of direction to her ability to lose things, nearly all of it defied belief, and yet she always managed. "That... actually does not surprise me. So, you going to let the little cotton-candy fluff show you up?"

"Oh,  _hell_  no! Justin!" Soul heard a muffled sound that might have been a reply. "There's a concert tomorrow, go out with me!" Soul almost face-palmed. He thought of when he'd asked Maka. In his personal opinion, his asking had been much smoother... if about as subtle. There was a moment of silence where he and Giriko both held their breath before there was a response: "We'll both be there."

Soul smiled. "Kay. I'll leave you to silently squeal inside your head now." He hung up before the inevitable invective, giving Maka a thumbs-up. "That's two down."

She ended her call as well. "Crona just said yes, so that's two more."

"So do you have a plan for the final couple as well?"

He did  _not_  like the look of the smile she gave him, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she draped herself around his shoulders and held her phone to her ear between them so he could listen in. It rang quite a bit before going to _–_  an Answering Machine. Huh, landline, then. "Hi, I don't know if you're asleep or just busy, but _–_ "

"MAKA?! My baby! What did you need, darling? Papa's awake for you~!"

Soul picked his jaw up off the desk. Sure, he'd heard of Maka's father, but seriously?!

"Hi, Papa. I wanted to invite you guys out to a concert. I have extra tickets and thought _–_ "

"Of course, Maka! You can count on your papa! We'll be there right away!"

"...Papa, the concert is in the evening, the day _–_  oh, er, I guess it's actually technically tomorrow now. Sorry for calling so late, I didn't even realize."

"It's no problem at all, sweetheart, you know I'll always make time for you!"

Maka's eyes hooded and she smiled that smile Soul loved to see on her, voice soft. "Yeah, I know. See you then. I love you, Papa."

There was a moment of quiet on the other end of the line. "Maka... I love you, too, Baby Girl. More than anything. See you tomorrow night."

Soul didn't even realize he was grinning until Maka gave him a defensive look. "What?"

He shook his head. "I think I'm gonna like your old man."

She sighed and set her cell on the desk, reaching over to exit out of all his work and shut off the computer. "You say that  _now._  Just wait until you meet him. After all, no boy is ever good enough for a father's daughter."

"Nah, I think we'll get along fine. We've got a lot in common."

Maka gave him an incredulous look. "You two haven't met and I've barely told you anything about him. What do you have in common?"

Soul smiled as he stood up and grabbed Maka, throwing her over his shoulder. "We both love you." He got to the bed and flopped her on, chuckling as she squeaked when she bounced. Maka laid where she was, uncaring that her stolen shirt had ridden up, and Soul crawled into bed next to her. She rolled close, using his bare chest as a pillow, and watched him watching her. Her eyes, still as brilliant as Sea Glass in the sun, shone in happiness.

"I love you, too."

"I know." It was all right there in the way she looked at him. "Good night, Bright Eyes."

"Sweet dreams."

"Yeah: meet you there."

* * *

Maka scooched up until she was sitting with her back to the headboard. Soul grumbled and followed her, using her stomach as a pillow. She smiled down at his still form and ran her fingers through his tousled white locks, turning her head to look out the wall-o'-windows to the distant lights of the darkened city, reminding her of fireflies reflected on the surface of a lake.

Soul seemed to think of her as this angel come to earth just for him. It was in every movement he made, every look he gave her, the way he treated her like she was the most precious thing in the entire world. Her fingers stilled as she turned back to watch the shimmer of moonbeams and glimmering city lights play across his skin, leaning down until their foreheads touched.

Soul had no idea how much she thanked fate and whatever upper being the universe might have had for that heart-breaking moment so many months ago that had led her to Death Scythe. Because as much as Soul thought she was his angel-savior, he was hers. Maka the bookworm, Maka the eternal student, Maka the coward. Maka who'd hated her father for years and run away to school, who'd hated all men because they were all cheating bastards in her eyes. Maka who'd been unable to connect to other girls, because it always came back to boys.

If it hadn't been for Blair absolutely refusing to be deterred by anything, Maka'd have probably been alone her whole life, hidden away in the back of a bookstore without a single human friend to depend on. That blind date had been a disaster, and she'd felt like an alien in the clothes Blair had forced her into, but it had all led to meeting Soul.

_Soul..._

Soul who looked at her and noticed her  _eyes_ , even when she wore something as skimpy as that dress, who played piano so masterfully, sad but hopeful, making her feel things she'd thought she couldn't anymore. Soul was someone she could connect with, someone who could understand, someone who could  _resonate_. And he had. The most exciting thing Maka had ever done was jump on the back of that bike with him, and it opened her eyes. Alone, lost, self-contained: that wasn't any way to live life. Life was a rush, a headlong race into the unknown, and Maka had been hiding from it. Never taking a risk, never putting herself out there.

She smiled and kissed Soul's forehead, watching him mutter a little and snuggle deeper into her side.  _What's life without a little risk?_  Life without risk was a life without Soul, and she wasn't willing to live a life like that. Maka wasn't running away anymore. Soul gave her the strength to stand up for what she wanted, enticed her to try things she'd have been too terrified to ever attempt before she'd met him. Soul made her want to be wild and reckless, to ruin her stockings playing chase and acting like a child just to see him smile at her with those gleaming teeth of his.

She giggled silently to herself, Soul who had introduced her to the fun and insanity that was his best friend, BlackStar, and said best friend's OCD boyfriend, Kid. Even after Maka had learned the truth about her mother, she hadn't gone home, her father's house held too many memories, too much pain. But just listening to BlackStar and Kid bickering reminded her so strongly of her father's own silly antics. She and Spirit had talked more in the four months she'd known Soul than her entire schooling. Because if she could handle Blair and BlackStar and Kid, she for certain could handle her dad and Stein. And if she couldn't have... she knew Soul would have been there to catch her.

Soul looked at her, spoke to her, like she'd saved him. But Maka knew better, she knew that it was really Soul that had saved her. Saved her from her loneliness, her isolation, saved her from herself. Maka knew the truth: she wasn't the miracle here, Soul was. And she would be there for him just as he was there for her. She would catch him if ever he fell. Maka didn't think of herself as an angel  _–_ a bibliophile, yes; a crazy cat lady, she certainly had the potential; but an angel? Never _–_  but, for Soul, she would try.


	3. Chapter 3

Soul watched her trying to get ready. Emphasis on the  _trying_. He'd seen her go through three other outfits before settling on the maroon sheath, stilt-like high heels laid out on the bed, and the ash-blonde was currently trying to tame her hair up into some absurdly intricate style. She finally got the hair-sticks where they held the insane style _–_  though barely, turning her head this way and that to check herself in the mirror.

Soul couldn't take it anymore and crept up behind her, plucking the wanna-be chopsticks from her hair and letting the soft locks trail down Maka's back in a cascade of moonlight-on-sand waves. She immediately turned on him in a mix of very apparent frustration and anger. " _Soul!_  I  _just_  got it done!"

"Stop it."

Maka blinked at him for not being drawn into the could-have-been argument. "Stop... what?"

He motioned to her. "Stop... this. This... it's not you, Maka, and I hate it."

She dropped her gaze, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in the dress. "I just... wanted to look pretty."

"You don't look pretty in this get-up." she flinched, but Soul went on: "You look like a goddamned trained poodle. So  _stop it_. This isn't 'Maka'. I don't really know who this is, and I couldn't really care. This dress, that hair-do, those shoes _–_  you  _hate_  heels. What the hell, Maka? This is like watching a train wreck and I can't do it anymore."

Oh,  _fuck_. Her shoulders were shaking with suppressed sobs. "What  _should_  I do, then? Just t-tell me."

Soul grabbed her chin and made her look up at him. "Idiot. Just be  _you_. Who are you trying to impress? Me? Your father? We already love you, and no one else matters. Go change into something comfortable _–_  I honestly don't care if you choose to go out with me in one of my shirts. Don't lower yourself to be 'pretty', Bright Eyes, you're already beautiful. Embrace it."

Maka wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging make-up she looked better without anyway, and gave him a watery smile. "Okay."

"Okay?"

She sniffled, then nodded, the happy glow back to her face even as a stray tear tracked down her cheek. "Yeah: okay." she took a deep breath and looked back at the mirror, then started cleaning off her face. "Just give me a few minutes. I'll be ready."

Soul nodded and went to wait again. Maka was finished in under ten minutes, presenting herself for Soul's opinion. The black top was simple, with some glittering dark strings of beads on the short sleeves as the only embellishments, and a pair of dark jeans that made her legs look even better than usual. On her feet were some strappy-as-hell black...  _sandals_ , because heels  _sucked_ , as Soul had heard time and again. Instead of putting her hair up in her signature ponytails, Maka stole Soul's thin black headband to keep the locks tamed back out of her face, and smiled up at him shyly. It was understated and economic... and beautiful. It was  _very_  'Maka', and Soul grinned at her. "There's my girl."

Maka took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm ready."

"Me, too. C'mon, let's get this dog and pony show on the road."

The little minx stepped up next to him and smirked. "Which one are you, the dog or the pony?"

She skipped back out of reach, laughing, when he feinted for her. "Well if you had your tails in, I'd say they counted as dog ears, but now..." he grabbed the leather jacket out of the closest. "Come on."

Maka rolled her eyes but turned around and let him help her put it on. Soul would just have to make-do with his regrettable pinstripe again. He followed Maka downstairs, a smile stretching his lips as she made a game of skipping down the stairs. He wasn't complaining: it gave him a premium view of the back of her jeans. He really liked the...  _pockets_.

"Pervert."

"What?"

"I know where your eyes are, Soul. It's a woman-thing to know."

"You can't put up a flashing neon sign and then complain when people get distracted by it."

"Eyes on the road and not the taillights, Mister."

"You say that like you don't practically drool when I take my shirt off."

"But I don't do it in public."

"We aren't even out of the building yet. That counts as 'home'. We, technically, aren't even  _in_ 'public' yet."

Maka shook her head and held open the door at the bottom. "You were saying?"

Soul gave a dramatic sigh. "Such a shame..."

She lightly smacked his head as he came alongside her. "You are such a..."

"Charmer?"

" _Guy_."

"And here I'd spent all these years thinking I was just a very butch lesbian."

" _Soul_."

He chuckled and ran ahead to start the bike. Maka just huffed at him when she caught up and he held out a helmet for her. She rolled her eyes, but put it on before getting on behind him. He didn't even start his motorcycle until she had on her helmet, made sure her jacket was zipped, and was firmly on the bike behind him and holding on, much to her recurring annoyance. Maka's arms around him were a reassurance as he looked both ways and pulled out, wind whipping at them as he rode at the upper edges of safe speed _–_  but never went over.

Six months ago _–_  hell,  _four_  months ago, Soul wouldn't have cared about helmets, wouldn't have given a second thought to tearing down the highway over the speed limit and without a shred of protection or worry, passenger or no. Those months ago, Soul hadn't had anything to lose. Then, he hadn't had Maka. Even the night they'd met, he hadn't given it a thought. He certainly thought about it now. There was no way in hell he was letting Maka on the bike unless she was suited up, suited down, and if he could have ordered a safety-bubble to haul her in...

Maka was the best thing that had ever happened to him. There was no way he was going to risk her life for the sake of looking just a little cooler. She was more important than an image. He was more grateful for that than ever before, because Soul was  _not_  going to look Maka's father in the eye and tell him he'd been putting his daughter's life on the line needlessly every time they went out.

Soul just hoped he could look the man in the eye now and tell him that  _he_  was worthy of Maka, that in spite of father-fears saying none were good enough,  _he was good enough._

* * *

Maka breathed in the cool night air, trying to calm her frantic heart. Soul's family... Soul might have thought she was beautiful the way she was, but what would his family think? His brother? How badly would  _her_  father embarrass her in front of Soul and whichever of his relatives were there? She really wanted to bury her face in the back of Soul's jacket between his shoulder blades and groan. Maybe she shouldn't have encouraged this after all...

 _No_. She sucked in a breath and puffed out her cheeks. She could do this _–_  they both could. They'd talked of mutual  _suicidal thoughts_  the very first night they'd met. She'd talked about her mother for the first time since she'd found out the truth. Surely this couldn't be scarier than  _that_.

She took another breath.  _I'll be fine. We'll both be fine, because we'll be together._  She was glad Soul thought she looked beautiful without trying _–_  and she had to admit, it probably wouldn't have helped her first impressions if she'd tripped over  _death_ -freaking-height high heels.

By the fourth deliberate lungful of fresh night air, she felt her heart slowing to a more normal rhythm. Or as normal as it ever got during the exhilaration of riding behind Soul at insane speeds with the wind all around them. Maka determinedly pushed every thought of worry to the back of her mind and enjoyed the ride with Soul as she always did: the two of them moving as one into the turns, the feel of his flexing muscles under her fingers, the rumble in his chest when he spoke back to her. It was moments like these that Maka wished could last forever, where they were of one mind, one will, one soul. Together.

Time passed too quickly, and her anxieties resurfaced as they pulled into the parking lot of the auditorium. Soul waited for her to let go and get off first so he could, but Maka couldn't just yet. This wasn't Soul playing a solo, private concert for her in the apartment. This wasn't a group thing where she'd be able to talk with Liz and Tsubaki as they waited for Soul to come on, where they'd all go out together afterward. This was... big.

"Maka? You alright?"

No. No, she was not. "Yeah. Of course."

"Would you like to try lying to me again when you aren't shaking?"

Dammit. "Um..."

"I'm the one going up on stage to play for hundreds of people, Bright Eyes. All you have to do is sit there in the audience and look pretty."

Here she was, prepared to help Soul, and he was the one comforting  _her_! She snickered when she realized how silly it all was, leaning her forehead against Soul's back, the sound evolving into a roar of laughter she didn't try to hold back. Soul smirked over his shoulder at her, not knowing the exact reason for her mirth, but more than willing to indulge in it. Maka finally got control of herself and smiled back. "I'm ready. I don't know why I was worried in the first place." She really didn't. Had she somehow thought that maybe Soul's family not liking her would make  _Soul_  not like her? That was just ridiculous, and she knew it. If they could put up with each other's best friend, nothing else could be insane enough to scare them away.

She took off her helmet and gave it to Soul to hang on the handlebars, running her fingers through her hair a few times to fix it. It almost set her off again when she realized once more that Soul's hair looked exactly the same when he got out of the shower at home as after being blown about by high winds on a motorcycle.

Maka got off the bike and walked towards the auditorium hand-in-hand with Soul, pulling him to a stop and leaning up to kiss him fearlessly before she had to go and find her seat in the audience while he went to wait for the performance to start. Soul's hand tightened around hers, and before she knew it, Soul pulled her fully into his arms and held her to his chest. "I love you, Maka."

She smiled and snuggled against his chest. "I'll be fine. And you'll do great."

"Say it for me, Bright Eyes."

"Play for me. I love you, Soul. Play for me."

He let her go, paused a moment, then kissed her one more time. "Always."

Maka smiled as she left, holding on as long as she could before they had to let go, and turned around to give him a final encouraging smile as she slipped around the corner. Maka had no doubts for him: Soul could play better than anyone she'd ever heard. He had her waiting on him, there was no way he would let her down. Soul would play his best knowing she believed in him, Maka knew it.

She stood at the edge of the seating area and took off her jacket so she wouldn't get overheated, folding it over her arm as she looked for her seat. She found it and sat down, feeling very... isolated. It was odd to be sitting fairly alone. She spotted Crona in the row ahead of her, sitting nervously next to the mysterious 'Ragnarok' Maka had only heard about. And in the row behind her, she recognized the extremely rude man who'd tried to pick her up before Soul had the night they'd met, though his line had been more insult than anything, sitting next to the kind blond bartender Maka could thank for really introducing her to Soul. If it hadn't been for the other blond asking him to play that night, Maka might never have spoken to him. Further back than them, she spotted her father and Stein. The redhead waved to her with more enthusiasm than subtlety, as if he could ever possibly be missed in a crowd with his partner... Maka smiled awkwardly at them and waved back _–_  and if she slunk a little further down in her seat afterward, no one who'd seen the exchange could really blame her.

Finally the lighting dimmed and the first musician was presented with an opening of red velvet curtains, playing the cello. He was good, but not amazing. Maka had read Soul's schedule when she'd been half over his shoulder the previous night: this was more of a courtesy thing for him. A mixed house of new, up-and-coming musicians and renowned experts. Soul didn't need to be here, but he'd never have backed out so late; Soul  _never_  let down someone who depended on him. It was one of the many things that Maka loved about him.

Maka enjoyed music, she actually loved it, really, but not  _all_  music. She had never honestly had much preference for classical melodies. They were slow and drawn out and just, they tended to remind her of her old lifestyle where it took forever for something exciting to happen. She just couldn't resonate with it very well. But she admired those that could make music, regardless of the type, and she looked kindly upon those that played, new or experienced, unknown or world-famous. She hummed near-silently with the cello player, and smiled brightly at the flautist and her shimmering tune.

When Soul's brother, Wes, came on, she gave him her full attention and the benefit of the doubt. He looked like Soul, superficially, but there was something about them that was different on a more basic level. Maka tried to figure out what it was, confused by the feeling. And when he bowed and put bow to string, his violin letting out a long, wavering note, she figured it out. Wes was... tame. He fit here, in this place, in this theater, in front of a crowd of well-dressed people in dresses and suits. He played well, but he played classically, a personal composition that sounded like it belonged in the seventeenth century. Maka could feel him putting his heart into his playing, but she found it... lacking. Wes was... refined. That was it. That was the difference.

This high-class place was perfectly suited to him. This was a man who would order champagne with his meal, he would never go to a crowded bar on Death Street _–_   _that_  part of town? Of course not. Soul wasn't refined, even if he could pass as it sometimes. Soul was wild, untamed, raw and real and he never held back what he felt just because it might hurt someone's feelings. Soul was honest and rough around the edges and  _true_. Wes was okay enough to look at, but he was very... bland. It was the first time Maka thought of white hair meaning washed out. Soul was so vibrant even when he was quiet.

She clapped politely when Wes finished and took his bow, gaze already wandering away. Wes was good, but he wasn't Maka's cup of tea. Actually, that was it exactly: Wes felt like a cup of tea when she was really craving a shot of espresso. That jittery energy that made you want to move, that was Soul, that was what she had grown used to, and next to that, Wes just felt watered down.

But then the stage darkened and she was drawn out of her thoughts, Maka knew that Soul was next. He always requested low lighting for his performances, and she understood it perfectly from the time before they'd even met. When it was Soul's turn, she didn't smile, she didn't hum, or nod, or show anything. Maka sank down farther in her seat, breathed as quietly as she could, and closed her eyes. She counted her heartbeats in the absolute silence, waiting...

Then, like a lightning strike in the night, Soul's first notes lit up the darkness behind her eyelids. One, two, like a heartbeat of its own, then a crash of many keys hit at once. Another beat of silence... One-two, crash! And an enormous grin spread across her lips as Soul launched fully into his playing.  _This_  was the music she loved, the way he played for her. Soul's music was rough, raw, sharp. It cut and left bleeding wounds. It spoke of pain and sorrow, not wallowed in, but fought against. Soul's melody swung high and low, crashed against itself like rolling ocean waves. It paused, gave a moment of rest, and launched back into itself wholly. Notes were skipped over in odd beats of silence, but they seemed right, just as the sometimes cacophonous notes were right.

This was what Maka loved. When she listened, there was no auditorium, no audience, nothing else except her and Soul and the music connecting them. It was a song about them, about the lives they'd lived: pained and alone and with vital pieces missing. And then it changed, took a different tone. No slower, but brighter, and just as loud. It sounded like excitement, like taking a stranger's hand just to see where the night ended, like riding on a motorcycle for the first time, like chasing each other through the trees of a park at night. A new tone: hot, sharp; not a cutting sharp, but the stinging of a heated argument, heart-stopping like a near-collision with a semi, pained in its own way like a heavy box dropped on a foot.

Soul wasn't a classical musician. He wasn't a face in the crowd, he was the one who stole the megaphone to make sure he was heard. There was nothing apologetic in the rough tune, the sudden rises and breaks, the drops and tumbles. It was ragged and real and perfect.

It made Maka smile, made her want to laugh. Excitement, adventure, every day a new discovery. That's what Soul's playing sounded like to her. It trailed off to a moment of quiet, clashed one last time, and  _stopped_ , leaving a feeling of wanting, of waiting, of... more to come. It was a perfect ending, a perfect beginning.

Maka opened her eyes to applause surrounding her, to Soul taking his bow, to his intense eyes staring straight into hers. She stood up and clapped with the rest, smiled so big she felt her cheeks ache, but she knew, the way Soul was looking at her like that, that it was her eyes that spoke the loudest to him. Neither of them broke eye-contact, neither looked away, they watched as long as they could, until the curtains closed and the audience spared a minute of quiet to take in everything they'd heard throughout the night. Maka let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding as the lights came back on, and stared up at the vaulted ceiling as everyone got up around her.

No matter what else happened tonight, how any of the meetings went, everything would be okay. Even if the evening ended on a sour note, there was still so much more left in the song of their life together, and Maka could hardly wait to experience it.


	4. Chapter 4

"So you think you're good enough for my Maka?"

Soul turned to see the redheaded man staring him down. The voice was probably aiming for intimidation, but after hearing him shout nicknames and claims of love over the phone, it just somehow wasn't that scary. He caught sight of Wes at the other end of the stage and held a finger up to Spirit. "Hold that thought, would you? I have to deal with something first." And he'd rather get the winnowing over before Maka got there so he could lick his wounds in silence later without a big commotion. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he met Wes half-way. "Yo."

"Soul. Good to see you. It's been so long. How are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Cool." What had Wes ever really cared for his life before anyway? "So where are the _–_ "

"My baby boy." Soul stiffened. He ground his teeth, hands fisting in his pockets. He told Maka he'd be fine, that he could handle this. He changed his mind. He wasn't ready to hear _–_  "Oh, you're here as well."

Soul glanced up at her through his bangs, wrapped in finery with an aura of wealth and 'don't touch me, peons'. "Mother."

Her gaze was cold and uncaring as always, a frigid look one could almost take to be her normal expression _–_  if it weren't for the way she looked at Wes.  _Wes_  was the prodigy child, and Soul, as he'd been told all his life, was the mistake. After giving him a dismissive look that said he might as well not even physically exist in front of her, she turned to his brother. "Wes, dear-heart, your playing was lovely as always. So beautiful, so civilized."

How could she deny his very existence and single-handedly undermine it at the very same time? Was it a natural talent? How did you argue against that? When Giriko insulted him, Soul could insult right back; it was a friendship-thing. Bickering with BlackStar was an entertainment sport. But how did you argue with someone who didn't even acknowledge you and then proceeded to demean you by listing everything you  _weren't_  that you'd once wanted to be more than anything?

Soul felt like he was nine years old again, wanting to jump up and down waving his arms and shouting 'I'm here! Look at me!'. Soul's expression had done that apathetic, 'I don't care' thing at the first word, and he tilted his head back as though he were bored. Maka's father was far enough away for plausible deniability, but the tightness on his features, the tenseness of his shoulders, and the hand he didn't have pocketed curled into a fist, all pointed to his ears working just fine. Kinda weird that he actually seemed to care, though, given how he'd been about to tear into Soul himself as not being worthy of Maka. As though he hadn't been told his entire life how he was unworthy of one thing or another. As if _–_

"Soul!" His head snapped around, hands coming out of his pockets as he turned and caught Maka's headlong rush, the momentum spinning them in place, "I  _love_  it. That was us, wasn't it? That's why you've been being so sneaky lately." she expertly deduced, beaming up at him.

Soul smiled back, knowing Maka would get it. Maka always understood his music, always understood him. "You got me."

He felt the expression freeze on his face at the huff behind him, glancing back just in time to see his mother pull out a handkerchief and hold it to her lips, as if she smelled something foul. "And who is this?"

Maka stepped back from his hold and he tensed, looking back at her father and the gray-haired man with him, then at his brother. Would the four of them be enough to break up a catfight? He'd seen Maka and Blair get into a knock-down, drag-out girl-fight and it had been without a doubt the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. Guys tended to fight fair and heavy, with fists and kicks. Women fought  _viciously_ , tooth and nail _–_  literally. Soul had a scar on his arm from Maka's teeth where she'd been aiming for Blair when he'd tried to break them up. It didn't really help that he'd found it insanely hot at the time.

The last thing Soul needed was _–_  actually, who was he kidding? It's not like his mother could think of him as any more of a deviant. Soul wasn't sure which would have been more surprising, really: Maka launching herself at his mother like he more than half expected, or the radiant smile she gave the other woman instead.

"Hello. I'm Maka Albarn. And you're Soul's mother, right?" at the acknowledging nod, Maka's smile turned just a bit predatory. "You must be  _so proud_  of everything Soul's done! His music's managed to touch so many lives. It must be wonderful to have two so wildly accomplished sons."

It took effort to keep his mouth from falling open.  _Holy shit_. Had Maka just managed to  _out_  high-society his mother?

Wes grinned at him. "I'm proud of you, Little Brother. And who is this charming young lady?"

The 'charming young lady' was more than willing to speak for herself. "I'm his girlfriend. We just moved in together."

A startled, affronted gasp came from Soul's mother, and she said something she  _really_  should not have: "I should have expected trash to attract more trash."

Soul's whole body tensed so badly he was at risk of tearing something. As a general rule, he didn't hit girls, not even Blair, and he'd sooner die than raise a hand to Maka, but he had never wanted to hurt someone  _so much_  as he did in that moment. He'd always been called lesser, but Maka had never thought that of him. Soul was used to his family's disdain, but  _no one_  spoke about Maka like that.  _Trash!?_  His teeth clamped and he glared absolute hatred at the woman whose house he'd grown up in _–_  could hardly call his mother the woman who raised him: a series of nannies had been responsible for that. He took an angry step forward. "Don't you  _dare–_ "

Maka's hand held in front of him stopped his feet and mouth both. He sent her a questioning look, but her face showed nothing, a frosted smile present as she stepped forward and looked up at the slightly taller woman. "You," she started, deceptively calm, "are a  _horrible_  person. I know very well that you don't give a damn about Soul  _–_ and I won't apologize for my language _–_  because I'm the one who held him when he had nightmares about you. I'm the one who watched him cry at night in his sleep. I'm the one who heard his broken heart beating in every note he played. You are a bitter old harridan that has no idea of what you've even lost. But let me tell you now: I won't let your words hurt him anymore. Soul is mine now, and I'm his. Your caustic personality doesn't matter anymore. Your cruel little barbs don't matter anymore." Maka smirked. "Soul doesn't cry at night now, he doesn't have nightmares. He holds me in his sleep and mummers words of love against my skin, he dreams of me and smiles. His music is no longer about his painful past, but our life and future together.

"Your hold on Soul is gone.  _You_ don't matter anymore." Without hesitating an instant she rounded on Wes. "And you, the way you treat your brother is deplorable. You sacrificed him for yourself. Let your parents torment him, hurt him, and you never stood up for him. You should be ashamed. Soul never talks about you, it's too painful. It's hard for him to trust people, trust our friends, because if his own  _brother_  never stood up for him, why should he expect anyone else to? You took everything away from him. You took all your parents' attention, anyone who tried to get close to him. You made him afraid to be himself because who he is might not be as good as you." Wes stood there gaping as Maka turned on his mother once more. " _But,_ I do have one thing to thank you for. If it hadn't been for you being such a bitter and vindictive husk of a woman, if you had not been so utterly disappointing, Soul might not have been at Death Scythe that night when I needed someone else so desperately. I'm not glad for what he had to go through, but... I don't cry anymore, either. You have no idea what you've just lost, but I thank you for him all the same." Maka turned to him and smiled. "Let's go."

Soul honestly didn't want to wait around for his mother to come out of her shock and retaliate, and he really didn't have anything else to say to his relatives. Actually... He looked at his mother. "If you'd ever shown any care at all, I might not have realized how special Maka was the night we met. So thanks for not giving a shit about me."

He grabbed Maka's hand and pulled her away, heading for the exit with single-minded determination. Past the guests that had been allowed backstage, past Kid and BlackStar trying to wave him down after seeing the confrontation from afar, past Giriko giving him a sharp-toothed grin and thumbs-up, past everyone and everything. Soul released Maka's hand and bent over with his hands on his knees as soon as he could feel the coolness of the night outside, shaking in reaction.  _Holy fuck_. He'd stood up and essentially told his mother she was an unfeeling bitch. For the first time in his life, he'd stood toe-to-toe with his family and come out ahead. Because  _Maka_.

Maka, who loved him wholly and completely, unrestricted and unapologetically. And Maka was right, his family _–_  no, his  _relatives_ , hadn't meant as much since he'd met her, since he'd found someone who actually cared. And now, compared to Maka, they really didn't matter at all anymore. He had a new family now.

He threw back his head and laughed, feeling the last constraints of his old life fall away. Maka didn't like Wes more than him, didn't care about his brother at all. She stood tall and proudly against everyone because Maka had no shame in who she was, proudly self-proclaimed crazy cat lady with an insane best friend, always-loving  _–_ sometimes-violent _–_  bookworm and eternal student. Soul turned around and grabbed her, lifting the squeaking ash-blonde up and spinning them around. "Do you have any idea how amazing you are?"

She blushed and looked down when he finally set her on her feet again. "I'm not that special."

"Maka, you are  _spectacular_. Outstanding, brave, beautiful..."

Her face went downright luminescent, but she smiled back at him. "You're pretty great, too, you know. Adventurous, determined, charming _–_  and not bad-looking, either."

Soul held her close, breathing her in. "I love you so much you crazy woman."

"We're a perfect match, then." She whispered back, voice raspy with emotion. Someone cleared their throat and they parted, but stayed close. Maka's expression took on that soft look Soul loved, taking his hand and pulling him forward. "Papa, this is the man I love: Soul Eater."

Soul felt like a bug pinned to a board as deep blue eyes seemed to stare completely through him. Huh, so that was where Maka got that from. Soul swallowed and held out his hand, cheeks heating when he noticed he was still shaking. "It's an honor to meet you."

"I'm Maka's father, Spirit Albarn." Spirit shook his hand and leaned forward. "So, you think you're good enough for my baby girl?"

He looked down for a moment, then felt himself steady, his grip on the other man's hand tightening. "I don't know. I'm not very good at stuff like assigning people comparative worth. I don't know if I'm good enough, if I'm  _worthy_ , all I know is that I love her more than anything. That'll just have to be enough."

Those blue eyes held him in place for a long, assessing moment, and then Spirit's expression did that same thing Maka's did and Soul gasped in surprise as he was pulled into a hug. "That's good enough for me. Love is all that matters. Welcome to the family."

Soul swallowed hard. He wasn't  _hugged_. Once or twice with Wes, maybe, a very long time ago. Maka certainly. But never his own parents, never anyone else. It was too intimate, showed too much emotion, too much approval. No one had ever approved of him before. BlackStar encouraged him, and Kid. But only Maka _–_  and now, her father, told and showed him outright that he was  _worthy_ , that they approved of him so completely.

If he wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand when he pulled away, none of them commented on it. Soul had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

Spirit nodded. "I know." he stood back and sighed. "You kids go ahead and get out of here. I'm sure you've got plans."

Maka tilted her head. "Papa?"

The redhead leaned into his partner, waving them off. "Don't worry about us. We're going to be in town for a couple days so you'll get to see plenty of us, but I think tonight's for you two."

Soul smiled thanks and looked at Maka, frowning. "Where's your jacket?"

She startled, looking around as if she might have dropped it on the ground, then rubbing the back of her head. "I... think I might have forgotten it inside."

He rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. "You'd lose your pigtails if they weren't attached. Why, look at that, you  _have_!"

She huffed at him and stomped her foot. " _Soul!_ "

He smirked and started typing out a quick text to Star, asking him to grab Maka's jacket and drop it off in the morning and allaying fears about the confrontation inside. He put the device back away back in the pocket of his pinstriped jacket and then took it off, wrapping it around Maka. "Here."

Maka looked down and pulled it closer even as she tried to play it off. "Won't you be colder sitting in front? I even have pants on this time."

Soul looked away and grabbed her hand, pulling her along. "Just shut up and let me take care of you, Bright Eyes."

She puffed out her cheeks but let him, letting the silence speak for her...

"Okay, I'm sorry."

Maka beamed and sped up so she could walk next to him. "Hey, Soul."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

His cheeks flushed instantly. "I take it back: shut up!"

She laughed and slipped from his hold. "Race you back to the bike!"

Soul didn't let her tear off, making a quick dash and plucking her up in his arms. "Oh, no, we aren't playing chase in a parking lot. Asphalt is in no way a substitute for grass."

"Soul! Put me down!"

"Hmm, now where have I heard this before? You aren't about to say this is 'undignified', are you?"

Maka stilled in his arms, clearly remembering the last time she'd done exactly that. "Uh, no, this is good."

"Thought so."

Maka snuggled closer to his heart. "You know, you act so tough, but you're actually very romantic."

Soul did his best to look offended at the very thought. "What? No, I'm not."

"Don't worry, I won't tell BlackStar."

"There's nothing  _to_   _tell_."

"Admit it, Soul, you're romantic."

"I am not."

"Sure."

"I'm serious."

"I understand..."

"Maka!"

"I'm not arguing~."

"Argh!" Soul huffed. He hated it when she did this. How the hell did she manage to win an argument by  _not_  arguing? It had to be a woman-thing. He put her on her own feet when they got to the bike, turning her victorious smile into a pout by plopping her helmet on her head.

Maka straightened it out as he got on and started the motorcycle, then climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, fingers splayed over his heart. Soul revved the bike and pulled out, Maka a warmth against his back. It was right, the right place for them to be. At each other's backs, at each other's side, in one another's arms.

Soul took them around the city streets, not in any hurry to head back to the apartment. Maka leaned forward over his shoulder. "Hey, Soul..."

He glanced back at her. "Yeah?"

"...Will you marry me?"

The bike made a sudden swerve when Soul's arms jerked in surprise. He cursed softly and firmly pulled it back into the right lane, Maka's laughter ringing out behind him. "You crazy woman! You want to kill us both?"

"What's life without a little risk?"

"What's life as a pancake on the side of the road?"

"So is that a no?"

"...I didn't say that."

Soul remembered meeting Maka. He remembered her sad and unsure, he remembered her eyes being Sea Glass green as they slid past his. He remembered the feel of her hand in his, her trust in him, her arms around him for the first time. Keeping him grounded and letting him soar. He remembered watching her graceful on top of the railing of a bridge, irritated and throwing his own phone at him. He remembered the way she'd looked at him when he showed her the fireflies, when she made him chase after her. He remembered the feel of their fingers entwined in the dusky gray of pre-dawn.

So much had happened that night, so much had happened since. Maka was brave, warm, kind, and  _utterly_  insane. He let go of one of the handles to hold Maka's hand. "Sanity is vastly overrated."

Her breath was warm against his ear as she leaned forward. "Is that a yes?"

Soul looked back at her and grinned. "What's life without a little risk?"

Maka nuzzled between his shoulders. "I love you, my Soul."

His fingers tightened on hers. "I love you, too. Bright Eyes, my Maka."

* * *

"Finally found someone worthy of your precious Maka?"

Spirit sighed and tilted his head back, watching the stars overhead. "You know, I think I'm striking that word from my vocabulary." He'd caught sight of that awful woman on her way out and taken great pleasure in telling her she wasn't worthy of being a parent. He was sick of the word.

"Very well, then:  _Good enough_  for her?"

"I don't think I care much for that one, either."

Stein huffed out a puff of smoke, smirking at him, more than used to his little idiosyncrasies. "Then what  _is_  your assessment?"

He didn't know much about Soul, but he didn't think he had to. The younger man knew what was important. "I think... they're good for each other. I think they're in love. I think..." Spirit leaned back against the wall, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and tapping one out. "I think they'll make it. I've seen that look before."

Stein shook his head. "If you say so. I look forward to the wedding invitations, then, since you're so sure."

The redhead stiffened, but didn't rise to the bait. He knew the look in that boy's eyes as he watched his baby girl. Maka walking down the aisle with him, Spirit giving her away. He knew, though, that Soul would cherish that gift like he was supposed to. Spirit thought about how the young man had shook in his arms, nearly overcome with emotion.  _Yeah, they'll make it._  He turned to Stein and leaned forward to light his cigarette off of his partner's, smiling around his own,"Me, too."

The gray-haired man looked genuinely surprised. "You're going to risk your precious baby girl with that boy?"

Spirit leaned back and let out a stream of smoke, watching it rise into the sky. "What's life without a little risk?"


End file.
